Retrogression
by zirnyheld
Summary: Asylum/Coven Mash-up. Kyle Spencer is sent to Briarcliff after murdering his sexually abusive mother. There, he meets Zoe Benson, a young witch who was placed in the hospital's care once her parents discovered her powers. Kyle and Zoe must work together to escape Briarcliff's dark clutches, but when Sister Jude takes a particular interest in Zoe, it becomes nearly impossible.
1. Chapter 1

**title: **retrogression

**warnings: **mature language, mature themes, sexual-ness later on. i'm not responsible for any possible trauma those under 10 might experience while reading the naughty words. & i warn that i might not update for long periods of time lol oops

**credit & disclaimer:** all credit goes to ryan murphy & brad falchuck & all the wonderful writers of ahs. i in no way own ahs. if i did, i wouldn't be writing ahs fanfiction

**author's note: **this is an asylum/coven mashup, if you haven't caught on by now. lots of asylum characters won't be in this story, and the same with coven characters. this takes place in present day, bloody face never happened. just read! {and review please *kisses*}

* * *

**chapter 1**

.

Kyle Spencer looked over at the clock on his bedside table. It was 2 o'clock in the morning and his mother had left hours ago. She had gone out with a couple of friends-drinking-and Kyle knew what would happen when she returned. He rested his head back on his pillow and attempted to fall asleep; maybe she wouldn't bother him and pass out in her drunken stupor.

A sudden creak and hard smack of a screen door signaled that his mother was home. He could hear her loud and clumsy footsteps against the hardwood beneath her. Kyle's breathing quickened as he heard the footsteps approaching his door. He balled his hands into fists, squeezing so tightly that his short fingernails left marks in his skin. A cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck. He prayed that his mother would forget; that she would continue past his bedroom and trudge up the stairs.

The footsteps slowed to a stop and Kyle quickly turned on his side, facing away from the door. He tried to steady his uneven breathing and relax his muscles, but all of his senses were on high alert. Adrenaline pulsed through his veins as fear rose from the pit of his stomach. A sliver of light shone on the wall and Kyle could feel his mother's presence in the room. She attempted to creep in, dragging her feet towards her son's bed. Kyle slightly jumped at the feeling of his mother's weight shifting the bed, giving him away. His mother placed her hand delicately on his shoulder, rubbing small circles on his exposed skin.

"Baby boy..." she slurred, placing kisses down his arm. She lightly nudged him towards her, rolling him over onto his back. Kyle stared straight up at the ceiling as his mother straddled him, caressing his face and pushing his blonde curls out of his eyes.

She trailed her fingers down his torso, feeling the muscle of his abs under her uncoordinated hands. She peppered kisses along his jawline, down his neck, past his collarbone. She peeled off her shirt, proudly exposing herself to her son.

"Look at me, baby boy. I want you to look at me this time." Kyle remained rigid under her. "Why won't you look at me?"

Kyle's eyes finally met his mother's, his gaze hard and cold. "Why? Why do you still do this?" he asked shakily.

His mother leaned down so she was eye to eye with him. She brought her hand up to his cheek again, holding his chin between her fingers. "Because I love you, baby boy." She pressed her drunken lips to his, sloppily maneuvering against his still mouth.

Anger boiled up inside of him and the adrenaline returned. Kyle grasped his mother's hair in one of his hands, tearing her away from him. "No!" he screamed, staring into her scared eyes. He threw her to the floor and stood above her. "I've had enough!"

Kyle reached over to his desk and grabbed a trophy, quickly smacking his mother in the head with it. Blood spattered from the wound, covering the walls and painting Kyle's face. He didn't waste a second before slamming the trophy against her skull, over and over, animalistic grunts leaving his mouth with every blow. He slowed to a stop, his arms aching with power, his body drenched in crimson.

Kyle dropped his weapon and slumped down next to the corpse of his mother. He stared into the lost pupils of her eyes and felt nothing but relief.

* * *

"Kyle?"

He didn't even move at the voice of his neighbor. He just continued staring into his mother's eyes.

"Oh my God, Kyle what did you do?"

* * *

"Spencer."

Kyle was slumped over in his small chair in a fluorescent orange jumpsuit. He rubbed his wrists, swollen and irritated red from the tight handcuffs.

"Spencer!" the voice barked again.

Kyle glanced up from his hands to see a man in a brown uniform staring at him from the doorway. Kyle stared into the man's eyes and thought of his mother's. They were just as empty.

"Up," ordered the man. Kyle rose from his spot, stretching his legs out as he slowly made his way over to the officer. "C'mon, kid, you're not a fucking zombie."

The policeman grabbed Kyle's arm and forcefully pulled him towards two large wooden doors. He opened them, revealing a large room with rows of what looked like church pews. There were two podiums at the head of the room, the larger one occupied by a squat looking man with a gruff expression. Dozens of people rose and stared at Kyle as he made his way through the room, approaching a man sitting at a desk with round spectacles and a shit-eating grin.

Kyle approached the desk and sat down next to the man, not looking at him. "How ya doin' there, kiddo? Ya don't look too good ta me." The man laughed and smacked his own knee. "I'm David, ya lawya. Now listen here, buckaroo, we're gonna do whateva it takes to win this case, ya hear? I gotcha back, kid, don'tcha fa-get it." David placed his hand on Kyle's shoulder and Kyle glared, a disgusted look on his face.

The policeman said, "You may be seated." The rows of people slowly sat in their seats, never taking their eyes off of Kyle.

"Kyle Spencer," said the judge. "You are charged with the murder of your biological mother, Alicia Spencer. How do you plead?"

David rose and began to speak until a weak voice said, "Guilty."

An eerie silence fell over the room as everyone stared at the boy with his hands in his lap, shocked and surprised that he was admitting defeat so early.

"Uh, uh, ya honor, I, um—" David stammered, shuffling through his briefcase filled with papers. "I had somethin' planned."

The judge held his hand up and David stopped fussing, a defeated look gracing his features. The judge looked at Kyle. "Why did you do it, son?" he asked, almost empathetically.

"I just lost it," Kyle almost whispered, his eyes widening at the memory of his mother's hands moving down his chest.

"I've heard enough. Kyle Spencer, you will be sent to Briarcliff Manor in New York, where you will be treated and released when confirmed stable by the staff."

The policeman returned to Kyle's side and grasped his bicep again, pulling him from his seat and back out the wooden double doors.

* * *

Kyle stared out the dirt-speckled window of the police cruiser, mouth slightly agape and eyes empty. He watched the buildings as they passed by, never lowering his eyes to meet those who were staring at the car, trying to get a good look at the man who bludgeoned his own mother. Their faces twisted in disgust when they saw his empty, emotionless expression.

"How could he feel no remorse at all?" they wondered aloud. "He's a coldblooded murderer."

Kyle could hear their muffled, repulsed voices from the inside of the car but paid no mind; he just continued to stare at the passing buildings which were slowly getting smaller as the car drove farther away from the rest of the world.

After a long bit of silence, the police officer finally spoke. "I can understand why you did what you did, kid." His voice sounded strangled, like it was something he had wanted to say for a while and finally choked out.

Kyle looked away from the first time and examined the officer. He was young, barely older than Kyle, with buzzed black hair. He had watered down blue eyes that kept nervously glancing back at Kyle from the rearview mirror. His smile was crooked like he was uncomfortable. He looked like naïve new adult, wondering what the hell he'd gotten himself into.

Kyle met his eyes in the mirror. "What did you say?"

Fear flashed across the man's face before he repeated, "I can understand why you did it."

Kyle looked at him a little bit harder and realized he was one of the police officers on the scene.

"I spoke to your neighbor, Mrs. Pharris. She knew about your mom…" he looked away from Kyle for a split second before his expression turned empathetic. "My uncle was like that. He did it until I was about your age. When I turned 18 I finally turned him in. I know what it's like to be in your place."

Kyle stayed silent as they pulled up to a looming building, death radiating from the grounds. A young blonde nun emerged from the enormous doors and smiled at the two men as they exited the cruiser.

"Kyle Spencer," she said warmly, extended her arms out to him. "Welcome to Briarcliff. Don't worry, you're in very good hands."


	2. Chapter 2

**title: **retrogression

**warnings: **mature language, mature themes, sexual-ness later on. i'm not responsible for any possible trauma those under 10 might experience while reading the naughty words. & i warn that i might not update for long periods of time lol oops

**credit & disclaimer:** all credit goes to ryan murphy & brad falchuck & all the wonderful writers of ahs. i in no way own ahs. if i did, i wouldn't be writing ahs fanfiction

**author's note:** thank you guys for reviewing, favoriting, & following! it means the absolute world to me. hopefully i can continue updating this often considering summer is coming up. thank you again! enjoy! {i heart you}

* * *

**chapter 2**

.

Zoe Benson sat up in her room, her head resting against the headboard of her bed. She let her eyes close as she turned her music up louder. The low hum of bass rang through her ears, drowning out the sound of her parents attempting to scream at each other quietly. She drummed her fingers to the beat, the feeling of her soft, warm quilt under her bringing her comfort. Probably the only comfort she'd felt in days, maybe weeks.

She attempted to focus all of her energy on the music in her ears but instead found herself caught up in a whirlwind of recent memories.

* * *

_A six year old Zoe excitedly ran up to her mother, jumping up and down while squealing, "Mommy, mommy, I know what I want to be for Halloween this year!"_

_ Zoe's mother chuckled. "What's that?"_

_ "I wanna be a witch!"_

_ Zoe's mother cast a nervous glance towards her husband who had looked up from his newspaper._

_ "Why do you want to be a witch, honey? Why not a princess or Goldilocks? You love Goldilocks." Her father smiled hopefully._

_ "Because I _am _a witch, silly. See, look!" Zoe pursed her tiny lips together, building up all the energy she could muster. She raised her arm and looked at her father's coffee mug sitting beside him on the kitchen table. Her small body trembled and slowly the cup began to shakily rise, coffee spilling from the sides._

_ "Oh my god," her mother gasped, rushing to grab her daughter. Her father's face turned a ghostly shade of white, his fearful eyes watching the levitating mug the entire time._

_ "Look, mommy, look!" The cup took a sharp turn, flying through the air, black liquid sloshing onto the floor._

_ "Zoe Morissa Benson, stop that immediately!" her mother screamed, yanking her daughter's arm down. The cup shattered on the floor and the room fell silent._

* * *

_"Zoe, you hide, I'll seek."_

_ Zoe giggled to herself, nodding to her best friend and running away._

_ She heard the girl begin to count and she ran faster, knowing it didn't matter if she found a hiding spot or not._

_ "17...18...19...20! Ready or not, here I come!"_

_ Zoe was ducked behind a small bush , her long honey blonde hair poking out from her behind. She saw her friend nearing the shrub and knew she was about to be caught. Before her friend could find her, Zoe closed her eyes and felt the air around her turn cold. When she opened them again, she was behind a tree. She giggled as she watched her friend jump behind the bush, yell "Aha!', and realize there was no one behind it._

_ As her confused friend cautiously walked away, Zoe closed her eyes again and returned to her original spot._

_ Hide and seek was her favorite game; she didn't lose a single time._

* * *

_Zoe tiptoed to her parents' bedroom, stopping just in front of the door._

You can do this,_ she told herself. _You have to know.

_Reluctantly, she reached for the doorknob, gently pushing the door open and peeking her head into the room. Her mother sat in her pajamas on the bed, hair damp and a book in her hand. Her father stood in the bathroom, brushing his teeth._

_ "Uh, guys?" Both of her parents looked up from what they were doing and faced their daughter. "Can I talk to you about something? It's kind of important." Zoe nervously played with her hands, shifting her weight from one foot to the other._

_ Her mother smiled and patted the spot at the foot of the bed, putting her book down. Zoe silently made her way across the room and sat on the mattress, still looking down at her hands. They had red little crescents dotted across the palms from where she had squeezed too hard._

_ "What's up?" Her father emerged from the bathroom, leaning against the door frame his arms folded across his chest._

_ "Well, um, lately I've been having these dreams - these _really _vivid dreams - about me when I was little." Zoe hesitantly looked up at her mother._

_ "Well that's perfectly normal, sweet heart," her mother put a reassuring hand on her knee._

_ "No." Zoe stood up and looked at the ground, messing with her hands again. "No, these aren't normal dreams. They're like flashbacks and I'm moving things with my mind and I can transport myself to different places and when I wake up my body feels alive like there's this power inside of me." She rambled on in one breath, feeling the familiar power slowly building in her stomach again. "The other day I tried something."_  
_ She took a deep breath and looked up to meet her parents' eyes. Their faces were an uneasy shade of green and their eyes were filled with worry._

_ "I felt this tingle in my fingers in hands and I looked at the candle on my dresser and something just urged me on...when I concentrated hard enough, it lit itself. Er, I mean I must have lit it with my mind...somehow..." Zoe trailed off in her own confusion, replaying the fear she had felt when it happened, but also the amazing delight that had come along after._

_ "Zoe, why don't you let your mother and I talk about this a little bit? We'll come up to your room when we're done." Her father attempted to smile at her, but it quickly turned into a grimace._

_ "Okay," she said quietly, shuffling out of the door, even more upset than before._

* * *

An hour and a half later, her parents were still "talking", and Zoe began to regret ever saying anything. _If I leave now, I don't have to worry about it. I could stay with Ramona. Her parents love me._ Zoe frowned and shook her head, trying to turn up the music more.

Slowly, her door opened and her parents entered her room, her father's face hard and emotionless, her mother's red and tear-streaked. Zoe removed her earbuds, waiting for one of them to say something.

"Your mother and I think it's time we come clean." Her father rested himself against the dresser across from her bed, looking down at the floor shamefully.

"It's not as if we had a choice," her mother muttered.

"You...found out on your own when you were little. Six years old; you had no idea what you were messing with. We hoped it would skip a generation like it did your mother, and her mother. It's in your genes." Zoe opened her mouth to question him, but he didn't give her the chance. "You were dangerous. Appearing all over the place, setting things on fire, moving objects and bringing shit back to life. We didn't know what to do with you."

"So we contacted someone, someone who had dealt with your...situation before," her mother looked troubled, searching for the right words. "She suppressed your memory. You forgot all about your powers. But she did warn us that it could be temporary," she shot a glance at her husband. "We just wanted to keep you safe."

"Safe from what?" Zoe looked from her hands to her parents, back and forth so fast it was giving her a migraine. "What _am _I?"

Her father snapped, his voice a thunderous growl. "You're a fucking witch, Zoe."

* * *

The next twenty-four hours were a blur. In between tears and fits of anger, Zoe shoved her life into a couple of suitcases and stuffed them in the backseat of her father's Volkswagen. The drive was long - almost 4 hours upstate - until they finally arrived at an ancient building. The entire place looked sad, even the drooping exterior of the edifice. The property was surrounded by large Victorian-style gates, at least fifteen feet tall.

_Who would want to try and sneak in this place? _Zoe wondered in disgust. _Or maybe it's to keep people from escaping._

The car slowed to a stop in front of the gates and her parents simultaneously turned to look at her.

"We're doing this for your own good, sweet heart," her mother said, seemingly trying to convince herself.

"You're doing this because you don't know what to do with me." Zoe stated bluntly, venom dripping from her words.

Her parents didn't attempt to protest; they turned back around in their seats as the enormous gates opened.

The car pulled up closer to the building and a young blonde nun came out from two large double doors. She smiled warmly at Zoe and her parents, who were currently pulling the luggage from the trunk.

"Zoe Benson," she extended her arms out to Zoe, who looked very surprised at her upbeat hello. "Welcome to Briarcliff. Don't worry, you're in very good hands."

Zoe began to think that her greeting sounded extremely rehearsed when she felt as if she was being watched. She glanced around the building until she locked eyes with a blond haired boy staring right back at her from one of the windows.

* * *

**author's note: **woof, this chapter felt so rushed but i wanted to get it out to you guys! thank you soooo much for the support. super special shoutout time: this chapter's shoutout goes to **bex-the-awkward-panda-gurl **for writing the amazing "lonely nights" & "i think you're beautiful" & for reviewing. the next shoutout goes to **BsBLady** because i'm _obsessed_ with "if you're not the one" & for reviewing. go check these talented people out! {you're all lovely people, goodnight!}


	3. Chapter 3

**title: **retrogression

**warnings: **mature language, mature themes, sexual-ness later on. i'm not responsible for any possible trauma those under 10 might experience while reading the naughty words. & i warn that i might not update for long periods of time lol oops

**credit & disclaimer:** all credit goes to ryan murphy & brad falchuck & all the wonderful writers of ahs. i in no way own ahs. if i did, i wouldn't be writing ahs fanfiction

**author's note:** i'm pushing through this chapter the best that i can but it just isn't flowing well for me. i'm so sorry about not updating recently, this week + weekend has been full of not much fun. {thank you for sticking around, you're all babes}

* * *

**chapter 3**

.

Zoe rocked back and forth on the spring box mattress that was her new bed. She curled her legs up towards her body, wrapping her arms around her calves and resting her hands on her knees. She felt as if she were going to hyperventilate, the barren room torturously growing hotter with every passing second.

She desperately glanced around the room to find something to distract her anxious mind. There was a single window right above her makeshift bed that let in a small rectangle of light which only highlighted the million little particles of dust that hung in the room. There were bars covering the glass, making it impossible to open.

"Or escape," she thought aloud.

The bed frame was a small and metal with the black paint flaking off. Zoe reached over to pick at it and noticed dried blood coating the areas without paint. She pulled away in disgust and felt tears sting in the corners of her eyes.

"I don't belong here. I don't belong here." Zoe shakily repeated her mantra, tears slowly spilling over and running down her cheeks.

She scooted herself down the bed and laid back on her side. She brought her knees up to her chest and gripped the pillow tightly as she slowly fell into sleep.

* * *

Zoe woke up to a police officer shaking her by the shoulder and saying her name. She struggled to open her eyes, dried up tears built up behind her eyelids. When she saw the police officer, her heart leaped for joy. _Someone's here to take me home. My parents realized that I really don't belong here!_ It took all she had not to jump out of bed and hug the man.

That is, until he said, "Sister Jude would like to speak with you in her office."

Zoe scrunched up her face in disappointment. "Who is she?"

"She sort of runs things around here." The officer—Frank, according to the badge on his shirt—looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to get up, but Zoe didn't move.

"Sort of?" Zoe cocked an eyebrow, folding her skinny arms across her chest.

Frank stepped closer, his upper lip curling. "Look, I don't need no shit from some fucking witch."

Anger boiled up inside of Zoe, along with a pang of defensiveness. She felt like the title was something she needed to protect, something that was embedded in her soul.

"Sister Jude can cast your ass out of here before you can even start one of your little spells. Now get the fuck up." He grabbed for her arm but she yanked it away, snarling at him as she took her time getting off of the bed.

"Don't touch me," Zoe warned. "And lead the way."

Frank glared at her, but Zoe was too desperate to get out of the room to care.

Not that the rest of the building was any better. The hallways reeked of death, rotting flesh radiating from every room. Zoe thought a musty room was bad until she saw patients with blood streaming out of their bodies and onto the concrete floor with nobody taking care of them. Rust-like stains spattered on the walls proved that this was not an uncommon occurrence. Zoe watched in horror as two orderlies senselessly beat a screaming mentally handicapped woman into unconsciousness. Her cat-like screeches rang through Zoe's ears and made her heart ache.

As the two made their way down the corridor, panic set in the pit of Zoe's stomach again. She found herself repeating her previous mantra in her head, and it was beginning to sound like she was trying to convince herself.

Frank walked ahead of her and unlocked a large metal door that looked like it was guarding a safe. The massive door let out a groan and Zoe met eyes with a room full of people who had turned to stare at her. An eerie song was playing on a record player in a corner of the room, the scratching and skipping of the needle sending chills down Zoe's spine. She slowly began walking through the room, trying to get a good look at everyone without maintaining eye contact.

Suddenly, a small woman ran up to Zoe excitedly grabbing her hands. "Play with me!" she exclaimed. She grinned at Zoe, exposing her rotting yellow overbite. Her head was mostly bald except for the small patch of hair at the top of her head that was tied up in a child's pink bow. Her nose was large and shaped like a bird's beak and her eyes were squinted, one blue and one hazel. "Play with me!" she repeated, dropping Zoe's hands and spinning around in her own world.

Zoe went to say something until Frank roughly pushed the woman aside and said, "Move out of the fucking way, Pepper."

Pepper whimpered and put her head down like a scolded puppy, running back to her original spot next to the record player. Zoe shot her an apologetic look but Pepper had already moved on, twirling and clapping to the uncomfortably upbeat song.

"C'mon," Frank walked ahead, ignoring everyone's eyes. Zoe looked down at her feet, following shortly behind. She looked up quickly to see the same boy from the window staring at her again, his brown eyes watching her every move. He looked perfectly normal; Zoe wondered why he was stuck in an insane asylum.

_Maybe he's like me,_ she thought, scanning him up and down. He quickly turned around in his seat and looked down at his hands. Zoe frowned and stared at the back of Frank's head, not meeting anyone else's gaze.

They walked through two more doors until they were out in the so-called "lobby" of the asylum. There was a large, winding staircase in the middle of the room that made Zoe think of the song "Stairway to Heaven". _How ironic,_ she thought. Frank led her up to the very top floor, which just so happened to be the best-kept floor in the building. There were only two doors on opposite sides of the hallway and Frank hovered his hand over her lower back, leading her towards the right. He knocked on the door three times and pulled Zoe in with him. There were two people sitting in small wooden chairs with their backs to the door. When they heard the creak, they turned around and Zoe curled her lips back in disgust.

Her mother was slumped over in her seat, holding her husband's hand in her lap, blubbering like a child. She looked into Zoe's eyes desperately, silently pleading for reconciliation. However, her father's face was blank and pale, his eyes cold.

In front of them was an older woman sat behind a grand oak desk. Her face was wrinkled and her eyes were hard and her gaze was judgmental, as if Zoe had done something to offend her. Her hair was tucked tightly and perfectly under her black habit and her hands were elegantly folded on the desk before her. She dismissed Frank from the room with the wave of her hand, her head held high in confidence. She exuded power in the very curl of her smirk.

"Miss Benson," she cooed, accent thick. "How nice of you to join us. Please, sit." She motioned to the empty chair next to Zoe's mother. Zoe remained planted in her spot. The woman cocked an eyebrow, her smirk growing. "Suit yourself. I'm Sister Jude, head of this establishment. I will see to it that your treatment begins as soon as possible."

"Treatment?" Zoe spat. "I don't need treatment."

"She knows what she's talking about, honey," her mother attempting to pull herself together.

Sister Jude turned her head to look at Zoe's mother, tightly pulling her lips back into a fake smile. "Could you excuse the two of us? I would like to speak with Zoe alone. Thank you for bringing her here." Sister Jude pulled Zoe's parents towards the door, attempting to push them out quickly. "I assure you, she's in great care." Zoe could hear her mother start to sob again and rolled her eyes.

Sister Jude shut the door and locked it, turning to face Zoe, her eyes almost challenging her.

"I don't need treatment," Zoe stated again, staring the woman down. "I need to learn to control my powers."

"That's just the Devil talking, my dear," Sister Jude slowly walked around the room, stopping next to the small crucifix hanging on the wall. "However, now that you're here, only Jesus Christ can save your fragile mind. You've become a vessel for Satan, a host for sin."

Zoe sighed, hoping if she played along, she would be able to leave sooner. "Fine. When will the treatment be over?"

Sister Jude chuckled darkly. "Oh, my dear," she made her way behind Zoe, her lips close to her ear. "Treatment never ends. You see, nobody ever leaves here. The Devil is always present."

* * *

**author's note: **i am so ashamed of this chapter. please excuse it, & please review it. love you, love you, love you lovelies.


	4. Chapter 4

**title: **retrogression

**warnings: **mature language, mature themes, sexual-ness later on. i'm not responsible for any possible trauma those under 10 might experience while reading the naughty words. & i warn that i might not update for long periods of time lol oops

**credit & disclaimer:** all credit goes to ryan murphy & brad falchuck & all the wonderful writers of ahs. i in no way own ahs. if i did, i wouldn't be writing ahs fanfiction

**author's note:** you guys are so perfect! i'm in love with your sweet reviews, they're really great fuel. i'm muy sorry about not updating in so long, i had exams, then prom, then more exams. it was a pretty hectic time. hopefully this chapter will make up for it? {you're cute people who say cute things}

* * *

**chapter 4**

.

Kyle slumped over in his seat, exhaustion weighing on his eyelids. He was always tired; the dark dreariness of the atmosphere acted as a hard-to-swallow sleeping pill, rendering every inmate essentially useless. Nobody had the energy to fight back, so they just sat back.

Kyle lifted his eyes for a moment and examined the room full of zombie-like people around him. Many just wandered around, dragging their feet around the room in their medicated states. One man sat by himself at the chess table, throwing his hands up in the air and yelling gibberish at the empty chair across from him. A woman was curled up in a lone corner, banging her head against the concrete wall, pulling her hair out piece by piece. She had massive bruises covering her bald spots, some blood trickling down into what was left of her hair. A small girl named Pepper danced around with a tall Mexican woman, clapping her hands. The sound of "Dominique" on the record player was beginning to sound like a lullaby, pushing Kyle's eyes close even more.

Suddenly, the large wooden doors at the entrance of the room creaked open, causing Kyle's head to snap up. The room fell silent except for "Dominique" still playing in the far corner. Everyone stared at the two people standing in front of the door, their heads cocked to the side like confused dogs. The pair began walking, letting the doors close behind them. Kyle made out the faces of Sister Jude's favorite police officer Frank and the new girl.

Kyle couldn't tear his eyes away as he remembered the first time he saw her a few hours prior. A beat up VW loitering in front of the building had caught his eye from the window. She had honey blonde hair and amber eyes to match. Her hair was long and straight, worn down and parted in the middle. She was small all around, a stark contrast to the enormous building towering over her. Kyle noticed she hadn't been brought in in handcuffs or a straight jacket, she wasn't escorted in a police cruiser, she wasn't kicking and screaming through the doors. She looked quiet and hurt, like she was silently suffering.

She looked normal.

She didn't belong at a place like Briarcliff, she wasn't built for it. Her skin was porcelain, fragile and milky white, cold air biting at her cheeks and causing them to match the naked pink of her small lips. Her clothes didn't hug her body, but instead hung from her bony shoulders and hips, draped over her. The November wind moved through her to the bone, swaying her small frame with the slightest breeze.

She looked as if being on the property would break her in two. Kyle felt himself drawn to touch her, to hold his hand out to her and tell her she wasn't alone. That he wasn't crazy either.

Was he?

When she glanced up at the window, he felt power surge through him. Suddenly her body exuded confidence and she looked as strong as she made him feel. When he looked away, the energy was drained from his body once more. He glanced back down at her, hoping to get the same effect, but she was walking away, into the opened arms of Sister Mary Eunice, the same woman who had "welcomed" him.

He was sitting in front of the same window, staring at her again as she trailed reluctantly behind Frank. Kyle silently willed her to look at him again, curiosity washing over him. What had changed her entire demeanor in a matter of seconds? What had made his blood feel like it was pumping through him again, for the first time since he killed his mother?

Kyle was so zoned out from the memory of that night that he didn't even notice her amber eyes meeting his glazed ones until he felt the rush of energy course through his veins. This time, he relished in the feeling, slightly wiggling his fingers and toes, feeling the nerve endings tingle. His head felt cleared and bubbly, and for a moment he forgot where he was.

He focused on her again and realized she was staring back, looking him up and down. Inspecting him.

_She thinks you're one of _them_, _he panicked. _You're just fucking staring at her and bouncing in your seat like a five year old. Stop fucking staring!_

He whipped around in his seat, facing the window with a grimace on his face. He looked down at his hands, which felt cold again.

* * *

A box of plastic gloves were shoved in Kyle's face. "Spencer, you're on kitchen duty. Get."

He looked up from his hands and saw one of the orderlies glaring down at him, eyebrow cocked, almost begging Kyle to try something.

Instead, Kyle just glared back and snatched two flimsy gloves from the box, turning away from the man. He looked out the window and traced the outline of the sunset with his eyes; he must have been sitting there for hours.

When he was little, Kyle loved watching the sun set in the summertime. He would be getting ready for bed and would climb on top of his mattress, propping his scrawny elbows on the windowsill just above the bed. He would spend his next hour before "lights out" watching the clouds roll past the sun, casting a different color on his face every few minutes. His eyes would widen in excitement as he saw the sky getting darker, redder, like a fire dying down into red-hot embers.

Now, in late November, he thought the sun set way too early, the oranges and reds fading quickly into the consistently grey sky. Instead of flaming sparks, Kyle thought of the embers fizzling out, turning to exhausted flecks of black and white ashes.

"Get the fuck up!"

Kyle shot the man a venomous look again before rising from his seat, knocking it over in show. He pulled his gloves on, turning on one heel and walking through another set of double doors.

_This place has so many fucking doors, one must lead straight to Hell._

Luckily the kitchen was right next to the "cafeteria"/"rec center" and was mostly empty. The kitchen staff was made up of mostly women, nuns volunteering to clean up after lunch and dinner. They were nothing like the Supreme Bitch that was Sister Jude, but more like Sister Mary Eunice - seemingly oblivious. However, these nuns truly had no idea what was happening. They were brought into the building through a guarded door that lead straight to the kitchen, and left the same way. They had no idea what went on behind closed doors.

Sister Mary Eunice, on the other hand, was blinded by fear. She was the Bitch's bitch, young and naive and scared half to death. If Sister Jude didn't have her on a leash, she could have easily been Kyle's ticket out of Briarcliff.

Kyle wondered what would compel a woman like Mary Eunice to come to a place like Briarcliff, and what would possess her to make her stay. There must have been some sort of force keeping her there, something stronger than the wrath of Sister Jude.

"Good evening, Mr. Spencer," a warm voice said, pulling Kyle from his thoughts. He looked up, meeting the eyes of a very young nun; she could have been nineteen at the oldest. Her smile was genuine and her eyes sparkled in the dim room. Her auburn bangs threatened to fall out of from under loose habit. She must have been new; nobody really remembered names except for the newbies and the much older women.

"Good evening..." Kyle trailed awkwardly, wishing nuns had name tags.

She didn't miss a beat, laughing lightly and smiling wider. "Sister Hazel." She bared a row of perfectly white and straight teeth, ones only braces could have positioned.

"Sister Hazel," he tried to smile back, but it ended up looking as fake as it was. "It's nice to see a smile around here."

"Well, you'll be seeing a lot of it. They have me working kitchen detail every other night. They said they're 'breaking me in'." Sister Hazel rolled her eyes playfully, her lips remaining curved. "Hopefully we can work together sometime, but I was finishing up from lunch. Maybe I'll see you next time."

"Maybe," Kyle tried to match her enthusiasm, but his blood felt stuck. His brain was thick and hazy, and forming complete sentences was like trudging through quicksand. He felt like he was drowning in his own words. "I need to get to work."

"Of course," she smiled one last time before pulling a bag up onto her shoulder. "Good night, Mr. Spencer."

"Good night, Sister Hazel."

She was ushered out the guarded door, and it was as if the room had lost a little bit of light.

The guard walked out with Sister Hazel, protecting the door from the other side. The rest of the kitchen staff dwindled down to a single middle aged nun who was rinsing the last of the lunch dishes.

"Isn't there supposed to be a dinner staff?" Kyle asked her as she packed her items to leave as well.

"We don't clean on Saturday evenings. They usually round up a few of you to help out and that's it. I think you've got someone else coming in to help you soon. Don't worry about it, honey, nobody hardly eats here. It's not much work." The nun placed her hand on Kyle's shoulder, her eyes filled with pity. It took all he had not to flinch away. That would probably lead to a hug.

Instead, he thanked her and forced another smile, watching her leave out the door.

The sudden silence of the room made him feel worse, and caused an eerie ringing in his ears. Kyle looked out the enormous window but the sky was black, the Moon somewhere out of sight.

He tried to imagine the sunset again, but the memory was suddenly distorted in his mind. The orange glow reminded him of his jumpsuit in court and the pink tinged clouds reminded him of his rubbed-raw wrists and the reddened sun reminded him of the blood.

So much blood.

It moved the way the sunset did, slowly creeping, covering more and more of the surrounding area before it was almost unreal. It touched everything, seeping into cracks and dying everything a different color.

The ringing got louder as Kyle looked down at his hands and examined his fingernails. Dried blood was still tainting them, so deep under his nails he couldn't reach it. The metallic smell filled the air around him, hitting him so hard he fell against one of the metal tables, sending him crashing to the floor. He tried to scream but all he could hear was the ringing and the sound of his mother's body hitting his floor. His eyes clouded over, red filling his vision.

He saw the blood spattering against the wall, streaming down to the floor and into his mother's hair. He felt the trophy break off inside of her head. He saw her cold eyes staring at him as two police officers lifted him off the floor, holding guns to him and binding his hands behind his back. He saw his neighbors and his friends and complete strangers weeping and screaming and hating him.

Just as the red began to fade into a black abyss, his veins felt lighter and his nerves tingled again. He felt two small hands pressing on his shoulders, encasing him in a strange embrace. Adrenaline ran through him and his vision cleared.

There she was, crouched in front of him, desperately searching his eyes for something. Her hands remained firmly on his shoulders, her fingers curling around them. Her mouth was moving, and as the ringing subsided he finally heard her.

"Come back to me. What happened?" She sounded drained, but that was a very common tone at Briarcliff.

"I saw it again," Kyle panted, coming back to reality. "Her."

"Your mother." It wasn't a question. "You killed her. She hurt you, and you killed her."

Kyle met her eyes again and slowly nodded, hoping it wouldn't send her running.

She shook her head, and his stomach dropped until she pulled him into her frail arms. "I won't leave you," she whispered in his ear. "I know what it's like to be abandoned when you really need somebody."

He rested his head on her shoulder, too high on energy to ask questions.

"I'll get Frank. I'll tell him you had an episode or something, that you can't clean." She pulled away and stared into his eyes again, trying to reassure him. She started to stand, but Kyle grabbed her hands, too afraid to let go. If he let go, it would happen again.

"What's your name?" He scowled at how pathetic it came out, almost a whimper.

"Zoe," she tugged on his grip, worry flashing across her face.

"Why are you here, Zoe?"

Her face turned even whiter, if that were even possible. "I'll go get Frank."

Zoe successfully pulled away, hurrying out of the kitchen without looking back. Kyle slumped against the table again, but this time the strength didn't leave him.

He felt magical.

* * *

**author's note: **oh my, that last line was much too cheesy. i tried to making this chapter longer without packing too much info in at once. zoe & kyle finally met, yaaaayyy! i hope you liked it! if you did, you should totally review, it makes certain people happy. {me}

SO i was wondering what you guys would think about different point of views in later chapters? maybe a sister jude chapter? tell me what you think!

again, thank you guys so much for the continued support, it literally makes my day. i hope i can make you as happy as you make me! {it's 3:33 am, i need to go to bed lol}


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